


A Matter of Opinion

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Artists, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Stiles breaks Derek's camera, they embark on an unlikely friendship that escalates into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I found this story half written in one of my computer's folders. I read through it, kinda dug the storyline, and decided to finish it. So, here's something new (and I promise this is the last new thing I publish until I have updated my WIPs).
> 
> So, thanks for reading, I don't own anything, and drop me a comment if you can.
> 
> Kay Bye!!!
> 
> P.S. Sorry the endings a bit rushed, I'll try to go through it sometime tomorrow and maybe make it a bit better.

“A what?” Finstock exclaimed incredulously, eyeing Stiles warily.

“A period piece,” Stiles replied for the third time, readjusting the strap on his camera bag.

“So, something set in the seventeenth century?”

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head, fighting a smile as he watched Finstock work out the answer on his own. When the older man caught on, _way_ after his T.A., Erica, who was grinning like a maniac behind Finstock, he gave Stiles an indignant look and said, “This is almost as bad as the circumcision thing you turned in for your mid-term.”

“Hey, the people needed to be informed,” Stiles defended his work. “Besides, this one isn’t going to be the history of PMS. It’s just going to be about girls and women explaining what they go through. An expose on the pain and suffering each one goes through when Aunt Flow comes to town.”

Finstock made a face, but still jotted down Stiles’ idea. He then packed his things and left the room, muttering to himself about where he went wrong in life. Stiles waited until the older man was out of earshot before he and Erica dissolved into giggles.

“You’re not seriously doing that, right?” She began packing her bag, glancing up at Stiles as he nodded. “Why?”

“Like I said, it’ll be an expose on what women go through every month. I think I’m going to call it _Red Nightmare: The Monthly Demon_. I think it has a nice ring to it.”

“Better than _To Clip or Not to Clip: The Story of Circumcision,_ ” Erica responded with a grin, zipping her messenger bag up.

“Hey, in my defense I was running on very little sleep, Red Bull, and Pixie Styxs when I came up with that title.” The two started out of the room, walking past the incoming 10 o’clock class. Stiles didn’t know what the class was exactly, but he thought he heard one person mention writing, so it was either some sort of writing class or someone who was forced to take handwritten notes.

“Do you wanna be one of my interviewees?” Stiles asked hopefully, glancing over at Erica.

“Can my name be ‘Aunt Flow’?” Erica countered her voice serious but her eyes were shining with mirth.

“Your name can be ‘Arm-a-bleeding’ for all I care. I just need females to actually show up for this thing,” Stiles replied just as his phone buzzed from his bag. He started digging around the mess, looking for the damn thing, only to ram headlong into a solid wall of flesh and muscle, effectively knocking the air from his lungs.

Stiles heard a clatter, followed by cursing and dark grumbling. He gasped, trying to catch his breath, very much aware of Erica hovering near him, asking if he were okay. When he was finally able to breathe, his eyes watering slightly, Stiles nodded, turning his attention to whomever he ran into, his caramel eyes settling on a hulking, dark haired guy kneeling on the floor, looking at what remained of his camera.

It looked expensive, even if it wasn’t a digital camera, but it wasn’t the camera that Stiles cared about; the guy looked like a complete wreck. Stiles opened his mouth to apologize, but a gorgeous, bespectacled face met his, and pale, storm colored eyes glared daggers at him as the guy gathered up his broken camera and bag, stood, and stormed away.

“Shit,” Stiles whispered feeling worse than the time he accidentally ran Scott’s hamster over with his bike.

“Shit’s right,” Erica replied with a somber expression on her face. “Do you have any idea whose camera you just broke?”

“No, whose?”

“Derek Hale. He’s supposed to be some type of prodigy. Apparently he’s like Van Gogh with a camera or something. He was in my art class freshmen year, sat in the back, doodled the entire time. He’s actually related to a few well-known photographers, and his sister is like this really famous painter.”

“And you know this how?”

“Duh, I had Danny look him up for me,” Erica stated with a nonchalant shrug. “We both agreed he is the most attractive guy on campus, followed by that one guy who made the bubblegum statue of Deaton.”

“That was Danny,” Stiles said slowly.

“Yeah, we know,” Erica replied nodding, a smile flitting across her lips. “Anyway, Derek’s probably going to kill you now, so can I have your stereo if you die?”

“I should apologize to him,” Stiles thought aloud, after a beat, ignoring Erica’s question. She had been after his stereo for years.

“Your funeral,” Erica responded checking her phone for the time. “I have to go meet Boyd, but text me later to let me know you’re alive.” She then waved and hurried away. Stiles watched her go for a moment before sucking in a deep breath and retracing Derek’s footsteps, hoping to find the dark haired guy.

Instead, he found Isaac, a third year art student, and Stiles’ roommate, looking glumly at a broken bust of, what looked like, Will Ferril. “What happened?” Stiles asked curiously, stopping next to the boy.

“I don’t know,” Isaac replied gloomily. “Some guy just came storming out of the building and knocked into me. I thought I heard him muttering about ‘stupid, inconsiderate hipsters’ or something, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention.” Stiles resented being called a ‘hipster’ (he had had terrible bed hair this morning and had just grabbed a beanie to cover it up, and he needed these glasses to _see_ not make a fashion statement), but he let it go for now.

“I’m sure you can always remake Will Ferril,” Stiles commented glancing down at the bust.

“It was me!” Isaac exclaimed in exasperation. He then threw his hands in the air and stalked away, muttering about no one understanding his art and how he was going to fail and get kicked out of school.

Stiles scanned the quad, hoping to find Derek, but the guy had already disappeared. He did spot a few poetry majors shushing their friend, who was sobbing, while a fellow film student ranted about someone ruining their shot, and Stiles decided to head towards the chaos. He had a feeling he’d find Derek.

* * *

Stiles gave up looking for Derek after about an hour, needing to start his film project, and went to the library to create and print up a couple flyers to stick to the bulletin boards outside the dorms, the student center, and the one just inside the dining hall. He made it vague, but not _too_ vague, just asking for female students who wanted to be on camera, and hoped none of them actually thought he was making a porno.

After he hung up his flyers, he headed back to his dorm. Isaac wasn’t home, probably still trying to recreate Will… uh, himself. There was a note written on the whiteboard on Stiles’ door, in Scott’s handwriting, stating that he had been by, but missed him, asking him to call. There was also something about some brunette music major, but Scott’s handwriting left a lot to be desired and Stiles couldn’t quite make it out. Stiles just hoped it wasn’t Harley Benson all over again.

He let himself into his room, setting his messenger bag on the floor and his camera bag on his cluttered desk. Stiles then extracted his phone from the bottom of his bag, checking the screen, and, finding that his dad had called, he proceeded to call his old man back.

“Yo Dad,” Stiles said when his father answered.

“ _Did I call you during class?”_

“Nah, I couldn’t find my phone,” Stiles replied sitting in his desk chair, neglecting to mention that he was also busy breaking some Van Gogh like photographer’s camera. “What’s up?”

“ _Are you coming home this weekend? Because if you are, I’m going to be out camping with Chris and Peter and won’t be home until Sunday.”_

“Ah, Dad, are the bromances still going strong,” Stiles gushed playfully, chuckling when his father sighed tiredly. “I’m just saying, Pops, it’s cute you have friends. I mean, yeah, it’s also a little weird I’ve never met them. Are you ashamed of them? Are you ashamed of me? Do you think I’ll embarrass you?”

“ _Are you going to be home or not?”_ his father asked slowly, curiously, ignoring Stiles’ teasing.

“Not if you’re not going to be home,” Stiles answered taking his laptop from his messenger bag and placing it on his desk, next to his camera bag. “I’ll just hang around here, come home next weekend.”

“ _Okay. I miss ya, kid.”_

“Miss you, too, Dad.” And he meant it. He may only be ninety minutes from home, but sometimes it felt like days to Stiles.

After father and son ended their conversation, Stiles set to work on editing a random piece he had been working on. Throughout his editing, sixteen girls and (not so weirdly enough) two guys called about the flyer. Figuring he could get a guy’s perspective, too, Stiles agreed to meet them in the quad after his afternoon class.

Erica also called, wanting to know if he was alive, and Stiles informed her that yes, he was indeed alive, and only because he had been unable to track Derek down. He then told her that she was not getting his stereo in the event of his death, that would go to Boyd (he heard a celebratory whoop from the other end, convincing him that he was on speakerphone), and that she should really learn _not_ to ask for his worldly possessions.

“ _You’re an ass,”_ she said in lieu of a good-bye, and hung up. Stiles snorted, shaking his head, and tossed his phone off to the side. He spent a few more minutes editing before his watch beeped, letting him know he had fifteen minutes to get to his editing class, and he shut his laptop. He replaced his laptop in his messenger bag, collected his things, left a note for Isaac apologizing, and then hurried out of his room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

“You want me to talk about what?” Lydia demanded, giving Stiles a narrowed eyed look. “Why wasn’t _this_ part of the flyer?”

“Because I doubt a group of women want to talk about their period,” Stiles replied fiddling with his camera. “Just describe what happens to you when you’re on it.”

“She turns into a raging bitch,” Jackson stated helpfully, but not really helpfully, from his spot next to Lydia on the stone bench. She threw him a dark look, looking as if she wanted to slap him, and proceeded to cross her arms tightly across her chest, refusing to speak.

“Come on, Lyd,” Stiles begged ignoring the eye roll Jackson threw him at the nickname. “For me? Please?”

“I hate you,” she said sharply, but nodded. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Um…” Crap, questions; he had to ask questions. Did he go the inappropriate route, and ask a bunch of personal questions, or should he just let Lydia talk? Oh, the hell with it, he’d just wing it. “Uh, when did you first, you know, start?”

“When I was twelve,” Lydia replied slowly. “It was at my Great Aunt Helen’s funeral. Mom made a big deal about it, I wanted to kill her, and I’ve had it ever since.”

“Okay.”

* * *

“Picture getting punched repeatedly in the gut. That’s what it feels like the first few days,” Erica described from the bench, sitting on the edge of the back, her hands on either side of her, keeping her in place. “It’s annoying and painful and makes you to want to take a swing at someone, or kill them, or both.”

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Stiles stated trying to be helpful. By the ‘honey, stop talking’ look on Erica’s face, he knew he had failed. “Okay, so it is, but come on, it could be worse. You could be, you know, bleeding to death.”

“It sure feels like it when you sneeze or cough or move,” Erica replied with a smirk when Stiles made a face. “Just a great flood of warm, gushing yuck and there’s nothing you can do about it. And don’t even get me started on trying to sleep at night…”

* * *

“Just talk into the camera,” Stiles encouraged the brunette girl.

“This is a little weird,” she stated with an awkward, dimpled smile. “The last person I talked about this with was my dad, and he gave me this…” she laughed once, shaking her head. “What do you want to know?”

“Uh, when did you…?” Stiles trailed off, his eyes landing on a familiar, hulking figure sitting under a nearby tree, doodling in a sketchbook, his shoulders hunched, glasses sliding down his nose, a permanent scowl on his stubble filled face.

Stiles shook his head, looking away from the guy, and tried asking again. “When did you first get it?”

“When I was eleven,” the brunette answered slowly, eyeing Stiles curiously and maybe a little warily. “My mother had been alive at the time, explained things to me, but now…” she trailed off, biting her lip, her brown eyes downcast.

“If it bothers you, you don’t need to say anymore,” Stiles stated slowly, not wanting to capture some girl’s private moment.

“No, it’s fine,” she reassured him, looking at the camera again, a sad smile on her face. “Anyway, I, um, it’s embarrassing to say, but I eat a lot during it. I also get weepy, and nothing fits me.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles said nodding, his eyes flicking over to Derek again. He was still sketching, but he had turned to a new page, something new catching his attention. He also chose that moment to look up, his pale, storm colored eyes finding Stiles’ caramel ones, and his scowl deepened.

“Crap,” Stiles whispered catching the brunette by surprise.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Can you give me a moment, uh…?” he was totally blanking on her name.

“Allison,” she supplied helpfully. She then nodded, offering to watch his camera.

“Thank you,” he said and walked towards Derek. The guy in question was already shoving his things into his bag, no doubt trying to make a quick retreat before Stiles could get any closer to him, but he barely shoved his sketchbook into his bag when Stiles greeted him.

“Hi, I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to apologize for earlier. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I can, you know, not pay you back entirely, but try and help you buy a new camera. I mean, I could maybe pawn my old camera, I never use it, and…”

“It’s fine,” Derek said gruffly, lithely getting to his feet and slinging his dark messenger bag over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.” He then stalked away with his head down, breaking up an Ultimate Frisbee game, ignoring the hollered “Dude!” that followed him.

Well, Stiles tried, he should get, at least, an A for effort. With a sigh, he returned to his camera and Allison, stopping when he spotted Scott standing awkwardly next to her, trying and failing to make small talk, and Stiles realized that _Allison_ was the mystery brunette.

“…and I, uh, was wondering, um…” Scott ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up. He shuffled his feet, fiddling with the rubber, Blink 182 bracelet around his wrist. He was crashing and burning so hard that Stiles could practically hear him internally screaming. As a good bro, Stiles had to save his friend.

“Hey, buddy,” he said quickly moving to stand next to Scott, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I see you’ve met Allison.”

“Yeah, we met earlier.” He nodded, looking at his feet.

“We were just talking about your film,” Allison informed Stiles, offering Scott a kind smile. “Scott says this isn’t the first unique film topic you’ve done.”

“Nope,” Stiles answers popping his P. “I did a film about the male circumcision last semester. Finstock didn’t understand why I did it, but he gave me an A anyway. I was just trying to show the public that it doesn’t matter if the penis is cut or not…”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupted giving his friend a horrified look, “Allison doesn’t want to hear about that.”

Allison gives him a polite smile, but her eyes were silently asking him to stop talking about his previous film. Stiles held his hands up, relenting, and instead said, “After I finish up here, Scott and I were going to head over to the dining hall.”

“We were?” Scott gave him a questioning look, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Scott,” he elbowed his friend in the side, listening to him hiss in pain, noting the amused look in Allison’s eyes, “we were. And we were wondering if you wanted to come with.”

“Oh yeah,” Scott caught on, nodding his head. He looked a little too eager when he asked, “Would you mind coming with us?”

“I would love to, but I’ve got to get to class soon.” Allison looked genuinely disappointed, but it was nothing compared to Scott’s kicked puppy look. “Maybe some other time.”

“Alright,” Scott said glumly, giving her a sad smile. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She waved at Scott and Stiles and walked away.

Stiles waited until she was out of sight before saying, “You’ve got it bad buddy.” Scott nodded, his eyes on his shoes again. “You want to go get some ice cream and Cheetos?” Scott nodded again. “Alright, let me get my camera and we’ll go.”

* * *

Erica had commandeered Stiles’ bed when he returned to his room, chatting with Isaac, while she absentmindedly doodled in her sketchbook. Isaac stood by the window, adding to the mural he had started the third day of school. The paint’s washable, otherwise their RA would have had a fit, but Stiles had a feeling Isaac was not going to be happy about cleaning the window the last day of school.

“Did you find Derek?” Erica asked curiously when Stiles closed the door.

“Yeah,” he answered carrying his stuff to his desk. “He told me not to worry about it.”

“Wait, you talked to him?” Isaac’s eyes widened when Stiles nodded. “And he didn’t kill you?”

“Hardy har,” Stiles retorted when Isaac grinned. “Look, I still feel bad about breaking his camera. I mean he looked totally wrecked when it broke; like it meant something to him.” Stiles sat in his chair, tapping his fingers against the surface. “Wish there was something I could do.”

“Look, Stilinski, don’t obsess over it,” Erica stated closing her sketchbook and getting to her feet. “Worrying about it is only going to make you crazy.” She gave him a pointed look before heading towards the door. She gave the boys a small wave, closing the door behind her.

“She’s right,” Isaac commented adding blue to his mural. “And the last thing you need is another restraining order.”

“Oh, god, don’t bring that up.” Stiles laid his head down, pressing his forehead into the surface of his desk. “I was just trying to be friendly. The guy freaked out for nothing.”

“You bought him coffee and scones, dude. He asked you to leave him alone. You practically stalked him.”

“I did not stalk him.” Stiles picked his head up, giving his roommate a small glare. “And I bought him coffee one time, ONE TIME, it’s not like I proposed marriage. And I did leave him alone after he asked. It wasn’t my fault we frequented the same coffee shop or had similar bathroom schedules or…

“I may have unintentionally stalked him.” Stiles face planted with his desk again. “I’m an unintentional criminal. That is going to be my legacy.”

“That and circumcisions,” Isaac stated matter-of-factly. “At least you’ll have a story to tell your grandchildren.” When Stiles lifted his head again, giving Isaac an incredulous look, he quickly said, “Well, both will have to be heavily edited, but they aren’t exactly boring stories.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Stiles said getting to his feet. He dug a towel, his toiletry bag, and a change of clothes out of his closet, kicking aside some stray items that fell from inside, and left the room. On the way to the bathroom, he wondered if maybe he could try to become this Derek guy’s friend. It’d be easier than trying to track down another camera that he would never be able to afford. That or he could grovel at the guy’s feet until he forgave him.

Whichever option came first.

* * *

Stiles didn’t physically seek Derek out, but he did run into the guy again Sunday afternoon. Erica and Isaac worked at the off campus coffee shop on the weekends, trying to make some extra money so they weren’t stuck like all the other broke students living off Ramen noodles. So Stiles naturally hung out there on the weekends hoping one of his friends would give him free coffee (they never did).

He really should have been working on his film project, but he’d been listening to PMS stories for the past three days and really just wanted a break. So, he’s sitting in the back of the coffee shop, working on his screenplay (it’s nothing serious, just something he always dragged out when he’s bored), when he heard the bell jingle over the door.

He glanced up, watching as Derek Hale headed towards the counter. Isaac and Erica shared a quick look, both furtively looking Stiles’ way, before Erica stepped forward, a predatory grin on her face, and took Derek’s order.

Stiles quickly glanced down at his notebook, just in case Derek spotted him and wondered why he was staring at him, and pretended to write. He found himself doodling instead. He wasn’t talented when it came to art, that’d always been Scott, Erica, and Isaac’s territory, but his stick figures were amazing. He even gave them clothes somethings, if he’s bored enough (and just because Erica could draw someone from memory, or Isaac knew this technique with a paintbrush that barely anyone could mimic, or Scott had some weird gift with charcoal did not mean Stiles was a failure). And _no,_ he was not bitter, he’s talented with a camera, he didn’t _need_ art.

He'd just drawn a stickfigure Erica attacking a poor, defenseless stickfigure Derek when a shadow fell over him. Stiles didn’t look up, still doodling on the edge of his page, but felt someone sit next to him. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Derek took out his sketchpad. He opened it, his body turned so Stiles couldn’t see what he’s working on, and continued his drawing.

It took Stiles several moments before he realized Derek probably did not know he’d sat next to the guy who broke his camera. It could be because Stiles actually decided to wear his contacts today or because he’d left the beanie at home. Possibly a combination of the two, but it also felt a bit like fate. Clearly someone wanted Derek and Stiles to be friends. Otherwise why did Derek choose to sit right next to Stiles, and screw that coincidence crap Lydia would have made it out to be; this had to be a sign.

“Uh, hi,” Stiles said turning so he’s facing Derek. The other guy grunted, his eyes still on his sketch, and Stiles figured that’s the closest thing to an opening that he’s going to get. “You might not remember me…”

“I know who you are,” Derek interrupted still keeping his eyes on his task, pencil moving swiftly across the page.

“Ah.” Okay, so maybe Derek _did_ recognize him, but that still didn’t explain why he sat next to Stiles, on this pale, puke green couch, when there were several, perfectly good spots scattered around the place. “So, um…”

“Please don’t apologize again.” Derek looked up from his sketchbook, pushing his glasses back into place, giving Stiles a tired look. “It was just a stupid camera, stop worrying about it.” Something flickered in his eyes, something that told Stiles it was _not_ just a ‘stupid camera,’ but the younger guy didn’t press the point.

Instead, he tilted his notebook down and asked, “Tell me, what do you think of my masterpiece?”

“Masterpiece?” Derek’s eyebrows rose and he fought a smile as he looked over the stickfigures. “Why does that stickfigure have boobs?”

“Because the person I based it off of prides herself on her boobs,” Stiles replied waving the notebook in Derek’s face. “What do you think?”

“I think if you’re going to draw stickfigures of me, you should probably _not_ use so much black pen for my eyebrows. They’re not _that_ bushy.” He quirked an eyebrow at Stiles’ flabbergasted look, amusement shining in his eyes. “I have two nephews and a little sister. I know when someone is trying to draw me.”

“Well, clearly I did not know this,” Stiles said slowly, closing his notebook. “So, what are you working on then, Mr. Criticism?”

“Now, why would I tell someone, who I know absolutely nothing about, what I am working on?” Derek gave Stiles a deadpan stare, the only indication that he’s joking was the amusement still evident in his eyes.

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles introduced with a weird, awkward wave, and really, waving did not even need to factor into the equation. What the everloving hell is wrong with him?

“I know. Everyone knows the circumcision guy,” Derek answered with a half smile.

“Wow, I’m never going to live that down am I?” Stiles muttered shaking his head. “One ‘fuck you’ to a teacher and this is what I get. Isaac was right, circumcisions will be my legacy.”

Instead of dignifying Stiles’ comments with a response, Derek instead said, “I’m Derek.”

“I know,” Stiles repeated. “My friend Erica told me.” He smiled, nodding at Derek’s sketchbook. “So, what are you working on?”

“Nothing special.” Derek showed Stiles the page. Erica and Isaac are half drawn, one making a drink for a customer while the other took another’s order. The details were awesome, way above Scott and Isaac’s level, but just a notch below Erica’s.

“Wow,” Stiles said softly, studying the drawing. “Where the hell did you learn to draw like this?”

“My mother used to tell me it's natural talent,” Derek answered closing his sketchbook. “But it’s mostly me making bad sketch after bad sketch until someone told me I had talent.”

“I get what you mean.” Stiles fiddled with his pen, twirling it between his fingers. “When I watch one of my films, I mean it looks okay, but I always feel like I can do better even though people tell me the editing is impeccable.”

“My dad used to say ‘a true artist is never truly happy with their own work.’” Derek shrugged, putting his sketchbook on the table next to him, picking his cup up.

“Or we’re all just pretentious douchebags who can’t take a compliment,” Stiles joked and Derek snorted, nearly shooting coffee out of his nose.

“Ass,” Derek muttered picking a napkin up, mopping at his damp sweatshirt.

Stiles merely grinned, leaning back into the couch. His expression turned serious a moment later and he said, “I like yours _way_ better.”

“Me too.”

* * *

“Alright, um, I, um…” the girl, Kira Stiles thought her name was, trailed off, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “What exactly do you want me to say?”

“When did you first get your period?” Stiles asked kindly, giving her an encouraging smile. “I know it’s a weird question, but it’s for my film class. I swear it’s nothing creepy.”

“O-okay.” She drew in a deep breath and said, “Um, I was thirteen. I’d been at my friend’s house, it was her birthday and she wanted to have a slumber party, and we had been doing ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board.’” Stiles nodded, gesturing for her to continue. “So, I got up to use the bathroom, and I heard the girls laughing, and then I spotted the blood. At first I panicked, I had thought a witch cursed me because we were doing ‘witchcraft’ but then logic caught up and I realized it was just my period.” A horrified look crossed her face and she quickly said, “Can you edited out that story, please?”

* * *

“Why, exactly, are you asking about my period?” the dark haired girl asked gruffly. There had been something familiar about her, something that Stiles could not pinpoint, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind.

“For a film project,” Stiles answered readily, having said the same thing several times already. He wanted to be tired of saying it, but he constantly kept reminding himself that he had picked the topic. He had to live with the consequences.

“Who chooses PMS as a film project topic?” she asked raising her eyebrows, giving Stiles an expectant look.

“It’s because I had a crappy guidance counselor,” he retorted with a sigh. “Look, you don’t _have_ to do this. I asked for volunteers, I’m not even paying you.”

Something akin to amusement flickered in her eyes, but she shrugged and said, “I don’t even care. What do you want to know?”

Stiles sighed but asked, “When did you first get it?”

“I was eleven, and my brother had been home alone with me,” she answered unable to fight a smile. “You’d think I’d be the one who would be panicking, I’m literally bleeding, and he had to have lived through this with our older sister, but my brother…” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, let’s just say he flinched at the sight of blood for months afterwards.”

Stiles grinned at the girl’s story, shaking his head. He adjusted his camera and asked, “What does it feel like when you’re on it?”

“Like I’m being stabbed by tiny forks,” she replied leaning back on the bench, pulling her legs up so she can cross them, placing her hands on either side of her. “Just repeatedly, stab, stab, stab, until I want to go murder someone.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, propping her chin up with her fists. “Of course, my sister gets these migraines during her period and has to lock herself in a dark, quiet room for several hours.”

Stiles wrapped up the interview, having the girl sign her name to the list, and watched as she walked away. He couldn’t believe how much he had actually learned over the past few weeks, and he now had a new respect for women. All the crap they had to put up with on a daily basis, only to have their own body fight against them one week out of every month. And men complained when they got a little splinter in their finger; males were big babies compared to women.

He picked up the list, reading through it, stopping on the last name. She had spiky handwriting, much like Isaac’s, and her C’s looked like the moon when it was just a sliver in the sky. She might also be related to Derek.

“Huh.”

* * *

“You mentioned a little sister,” Stiles stated quite loudly, the moment he approached Derek in the library, ignoring the dark stare the librarian gave him. Derek looked up, his eyebrows furrowed, but he still nodded. “Does she happen to go here?”

His eyebrows shot up and he sighed heavily. “God damn it, Cora,” he grumbled putting his pencil down. “I’m going to kill her.”

“She didn’t _do_ anything,” Stiles said quickly, sitting across from Derek. “She just participated in my film project. I didn’t even know you two shared a last name until I read her name, but I guess it makes sense now. She did seem familiar.”

“Sorry about her.” Derek leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. “I may have mentioned you, and she gets curious whenever I make any new friends.”

“We’re friends now?” Stiles grinned at the tired look Derek threw him. “I’m just kidding. Of course we’re friends.” Stiles inclined his chair backwards, his feet dangling over the floor, and he waggled his eyebrows, slyly asking, “So you talked about me?”

“I mentioned you once,” Derek answered pointedly.

“So you talked about me?” Stiles repeated, his grin widening, and Derek merely sighed, picking his pencil up. “What’d you talk about?”

Before the older guy could respond, a familiar voice said, “Obviously he wants your penis.”

Derek stood up suddenly, knocking his books off the table, startling Stiles, and the younger guy’s chair tipped backwards, spilling him onto the floor, his head knocking against the hardwood with an audible thud. Everything grayed out for a couple seconds, and he when he came to, Derek and Erica hovered over him, both looking worried.

“Ow,” Stiles groaned slowly sitting up, the room spinning around him. He leaned against the table, rubbing the back of his head, finding a goose egg hidden in his hair. “What the hell happened?”

“I was talking to Isaac when your chair just tipped over.” Erica held up her phone, Isaac’s tiny voice demanding to know what had happened. She threw Derek a suspicious look, and curiously asked, “Do _you_ know why his chair tipped over?”

“I think Stiles should get his head checked out,” Derek suggested ignoring her question, his hand half raised, almost as if he wanted to check Stiles over for any further injuries. Reluctantly, he lowered his hand and said, “You could have a concussion.”

“I think you might be right,” Stiles murmured squeezing his eyes shut, breathing through a sudden bout of nausea. “Can you give me a minute?”

It’s another two minutes before Stiles allowed Derek to help him up. They worked their way, slowly, to the on campus clinic, with Erica trailing them, carrying Derek’s stuff, a strange smile on her face the entire way. Stiles made a mental note to ask her about it later.

* * *

Stiles was given a relatively clean bill of health, but Isaac still had to keep an eye on him for the rest of the night. For some reason, Derek wouldn’t even look at Stiles the entire walk to the clinic, and had hightailed it out without so much as a goodbye after dropping him off, almost forgetting to grab his stuff from Erica.

“I’m not sure what happened,” Stiles said from his bed, staring at the ceiling. “One minute we’re getting along fine and the next Derek’s acting strange, Erica’s seems to know something I don’t, and I have a mild concussion.”

“First,” Isaac started bringing Stiles two aspirin, “when has Erica ever _not_ known something you don’t? And second, you’ve only known Derek for a couple weeks. This could be the norm for him.”

“It’s downright annoying if it is,” Stiles grumbled sitting up long enough to take the aspirin. He laid back down, glaring at the ceiling. “Maybe I should ask his sister if this is normal.”

“Or you should just let it go,” Isaac suggested just as their door flew open.

Scott ran inside, followed by Allison, and quickly said, “I just heard. Oh my God, is it true you nearly died? I thought I’d have to call your dad and tell him you died in a tragic accident because we both know he would just roll his eyes if he knew that you died because your chair tipped over even though he’s told you like a million times _not_ to do that.”

“Scotty, buddy, breath.” Stiles slowly sat up, propping himself up against his headboard, and said, “I didn’t almost die, and I’m fine.” He turned to the brunette hovering behind Scott and waved. “Hi Allison.”

“Hi,” she replied returning his wave. “I’m the one who told Scott about your accident. Matt Dahler swore to me there had been blood everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, Matt Dahler is a lying idiot,” Stiles stated moodily.

“What happened exactly?” Scott asked curiously, sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed.

“I was talking to Derek, Erica said something from behind me, Derek stood up, knocked his books off the table, and the next thing I know I’m on the floor.” Stiles shrugged, fiddling with his watch. “I was being stupid, and I ended up with a mild concussion. Nothing big.”

“What did Erica say?” Scott tilted his head to the side, honestly wanting to know all of the details, and Stiles noticed Isaac turn a brilliant shade of red.

“She had been talking to Isaac.” He eyed his roommate warily, his lips parted to ask the taller boy what, exactly, he and Erica had been talking about, but his words die on his lips when Erica walked into the room through the open door, Boyd trailing behind her.

“Well, someone is having a party and didn’t think to invite us,” she commented in a faux-hurt voice, placing her hands on her hips. “Does this look like a party, Boyd?” She received a grunt for a reply. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Hey Erica,” Isaac and Scott greet while Stiles gave her a two fingered wave.

“So,” she started moving towards Isaac’s bed, plopping down right in the middle. “What were we talking about?”

“Stiles was just telling us what had happened in the library,” Allison informed the blonde, taking a seat next to Scott.

“Ah.” Erica nodded, giving Stiles a small smile. “Regaling the kids with your tale? About how Derek tripped over his own chair over when he rushed to get to your side?” At the confused look Stiles gave her, Erica curiously asked, “Did Derek not tell you he was the first one to get to your side despite the fact that I was standing _right_ next to you?” She looked around the room, a thoughtful look on her face. “Where is your knight in shining armor anyway? I thought he’d be hovering over your bedside, feeding you soup, and waxing poetry about your eyes.”

“What?” Stiles gave Erica a dubious look and she just sighed. “Seriously, what are you talking about?”

“Stiles, honey, Derek _likes_ you,” she responded, obviously thinking Stiles had picked up on this information. He did not, however, do as Erica thought because there’s no way Derek liked him, that’s ridiculous.

“Hilarious,” he said deadpan, looking away from her. “Why would Derek, of all people, _like_ me?”

Before anyone could respond, someone cleared their throat and Stiles’ head whipped towards the still open door, his eyes settling on Derek, hurt evident on his face.  They held eye contact for a long moment until Derek broke it, turning on his heel, and storming away.

“Derek wait!” Stiles called scrambling off his bed, ignoring the way the room tilted briefly, and chased after the older guy.

“I’m sorry,” Derek called over his shoulder, rushing down the stairs. “For your head, but I really need to go.”

“Was Erica right?” Derek stopped, keeping his back to Stiles, his shoulders tense. “Was she right?”

Derek sighed, turning slowly, and offered Stiles a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter.” He then walked away, ignoring the younger guy when he tried to call him back. Glumly, Stiles returned to his room, Derek’s last words circling around his head.

The thing was it _did_ matter.

* * *

Stiles had a problem, and like with most of his problems he swept it under the rug and retreated back to his dad’s for the weekend. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about dating other guys, he’d done more than _think_ about it, but he’d never thought he’d find someone like Derek Hale.

 _Derek_ didn’t take his crap. _Derek_ bantered with him like they’ve known each other for years. _Derek_ was an unbelievable gorgeous, talented, intelligent guy who didn’t need to be dating someone who decided to do his final semester project on the women’s menstrual cycle.

“Father,” Stiles called the moment he let himself into the house. “I’ve brought two months worth of laundry. I hope the washing machine is open.”

“At least you didn’t try mailing it to me this time,” his father called back from the kitchen. Stiles dropped his bags by the door, following his father’s voice, giving the older guy a hug. “I missed ya, kid.”

“Me too, Dad.” If they held on a little longer than necessary, no one needed to know, but they eventually broke apart. His father returned to the pot he had been cooking in while Stiles went to get his dirty laundry.

Once he had the first load going, he sat at the table and asked, “So, Pop, what have you been up to besides hanging with your besties.”

“Stop calling them that,” he dad replied with a sigh, setting a bowl of soup down in front of his son. “And nothing much. Tara and I solved the case of the convenient store bandit, we hired a new deputy, and Melissa and I went on a date.”

“Wait what?” Stiles dropped his spoon in his bowl, splashing his hand with molten liquid. He swore, shaking it out, giving his dad a wary look. “You’re not messing with me, right?”

“No, I’m not ‘messing’ with you,” his father said, and Stiles could practically hear the quotes around the word ‘messing.’ “We went to Jack’s, had a great time, and then I took her home. It wasn’t anything special.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“Stiles.”

“I _need_ details, Dad. I mean, not details of the sexual kind…”

“Stiles!”

“…but details nonetheless,” Stiles plowed on as if his father hadn’t said anything. “Who asked who, when you took her to Jack’s did you use that cheesy joke about knowing the owner, and can I call Scott after I finish this soup and let him know what happened. I mean, he’s going to flip, but we’ve been looking forward to this day for seven years so…”

“Kid, breathe,” Stiles’ father cut him off, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We only went on one date, and she asked me, and _no_ I did not use that ‘cheesy’ joke. And yes, I did kiss her.”

“On the lips?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows, a smug smile on his face.

His dad rolled his eyes and said, “Just eat your soup.”

The two fell silent, finishing their soup. Once their bowls were empty, Stiles offered to do the dishes if his father dried, and they stood side-by-side at the sink.

“So, anything new happen to you?” Stiles’ father asked curiously, glancing over at his son.

“Other than the inevitable finals week that seems to be coming faster than I’d like?” When his father nodded, Stiles shrugged and said, “Nothing much. I started my final film project for the year, Scott has been in a quasi-relationship with a music major, and Isaac apparently looks like Will Ferril when he’s in bust form.” His dad gave Stiles a confused look and he shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

“Have you met anyone new?” Wait, Stiles knew what this was, this was his father fishing for information. Why would his father be fishing for information? Unless…

“Did Scott tell his mom about Derek?”

“Oh, so that’s his name?” His dad nodded, drying the bowl Stiles handed him.

“I’m going to kill him,” Stiles muttered scrubbing the bowl he’s holding extra hard. “Derek is just a guy I met, Dad.”

“If you’re dating this boy, you know I’m okay with it.”

Stiles sighed heavily, his eyes going heavenward, and he said, “I’m not dating Derek.”

“But you want to.” Ugh, Stiles hated how well his father knew him.

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know, Dad. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and I think I may have screwed things up on Thursday.”

“What happened Thursday?”

Stiles quickly recapped what had happened, only getting interrupted one time. His father reminded him that tipping back in chairs was dangerous and Stiles had gotten lucky he only had a mild concussion. Also, he really shouldn’t be driving with a concussion.

Finally, once the final dish had been put away, both guys sitting at the table, Stiles finished his story. He sat back in his chair, his fists on the table, and said, “So basically, I don’t know if I like Derek that way, but I don’t _not_ like him that way. You understand?”

“Shocking, Stiles, I do understand,” his father replied sitting forward, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his fists. “Look, kid, no one can tell you how you feel except you. And if you really like this Derek guy, maybe you should give it a chance, see what happens.”

“And if our relationship implodes in a mass of fights and violent breakups?” Stiles asked worriedly, tucking his lip between his teeth.

“You call the police,” his father suggested looking appalled at the idea of a ‘violent’ breakup. “Look barring any breakups, that will _not_ be violent, you don’t know what’ll happen. Not unless you take that leap.”

* * *

Talking with his dad helped a little, and Stiles found himself in his old bedroom later that night, pacing back and forth, fumbling with his cell phone. It’d been very recently that he and Derek exchanged cell numbers, the older guy almost hesitant before agreeing. Stiles hadn’t made it a habit to call Derek, but it made him feel better that he had his number. Now, he just had to _use_ the number.

He halted in his pacing, scrolling through his contacts, and stopped on Derek’s name. Before he could talk himself out of it, Stiles hit send and put the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice, and then an unfamiliar, female voice answered, “ _Hello?”_

“Um, hi, uh is this Derek’s phone?” Stiles’ heart stuttered in his chest. Clearly, when Stiles rejected him, Derek found someone else. That’s what must have happened. He missed his chance, he’d fucked up, and now he’d lost the guy before anything could happen between them.

_“Are you Stiles?”_

“Wait what?” Alright, so he hadn’t been expecting that. “You’re not Derek’s sex buddy?”

“ _Wow_.” The girl chuckled, clearly amused by Stiles’ distress, and called, “ _Derek, phone’s for you.”_

Stiles heard a whispered argument before Derek warily said, “ _Stiles?”_

“That was your sister wasn’t it?” Stiles asked as way of greeting.

“ _Yeah, that was Laura,”_ Derek answered and Stiles face palmed. “ _What’s up?”_

It was now or never, Stiles either said something now or sat through the weekend soaking in his own regret, so he drew in a breath and said, “It matters.”

 _“What?”_ Clearly he confused Derek because that’s what he does; he confuses people.

Stiles lets out a heavy sigh and repeated, “It matters. That you like me. Because I just might like you, too.”

“ _Might?”_

“I’m not entirely sure how I feel, but I do know that it matters… that you like me. That is.” God he was awkwarding up everything. Being awkward wasn’t cute, and whoever said it was could go straight to hell. “Are you still there?”

“ _Yeah,”_ Derek answered softly.

“I want to try being an us,” Stiles started leaning against his door. “If that’s remotely possible.”

“ _I’m okay with trying.”_

“Alright, I guess we’ll talk about it on Monday.”

“ _Alright.”_

It wasn’t a perfect beginning to their relationship, but it was a step in the right direction. Stiles just had to make sure he didn’t fuck anything up. This may be harder than he thought.

* * *

Stiles found Derek sitting under a tree on Monday, wearing a new camera around his neck, sketching in his book. He took a seat next to the older guy, offering him a smile, and said, “So…”

“So,” Derek repeated glancing up from his drawing.

“I said we’d talk…”

“So talk.” Derek gestured for Stiles to start the conversation, closing the cover of his sketchbook.

“Um, I just, first I’m sorry. About Thursday. I was just surprised by what Erica had been suggesting. I mean, I’m not exactly the first person I’d choose to date.”

“Why?” Derek gave Stiles a dubious look, clearly finding the idea of no one wanting to date Stiles to be a stupid idea. “You’re talented with a camera, you clearly know what you’re doing when you edit, and you’re working on a screenplay.”

“That’s not serious.”

“Not to mention you’re smart and less of a hipster than I thought you’d be.” Derek grinned when Stiles glared at him. “Look, I want to be with you, and I am willing to try, as you put it, being an us. But if you’re not sure…”

“It’s not that I’m not sure,” Stiles started his eyes downcast. “What happens if I screw things up?”

“What happens if you don’t?” Stiles looked up, and Derek smiled. “You can’t know the future until you lived it.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Laura is very philosophical when she’s drunk,” Derek answered and Stiles chuckled. “So, Stiles Stilinski, will you go on a date with me?”

“You know,” Stiles started reaching out to take Derek’s hand, “I would love to go on a date with you.”

* * *

 

**Seven Months Later…**

“What is love to you?” Stiles asked Lydia and Cora. Lydia had ended things with Jackson two days before the beginning of their senior year and had met Cora three days later. They weren’t the most stable couple, they fought more than anyone Stiles knew, but they rarely stayed mad at each other for more than a few hours.

“Love is not killing each other after a long day,” Cora answered putting her arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “And believe me, I’ve wanted to kill you several times.”

Lydia offered Cora a smirk, leaning over to kiss her, and said, “Me too.”

* * *

“What’s love to you?” Stiles asked Allison and Scott. They sat cuddled up together, the former practically in the latter’s lap. They’d been together since the end of their junior year, exchanging emails for two weeks before they both realized they only lived three blocks from each other (apparently one of Stiles’ dad’s friend happened to be Allison’s father).

“Always knowing she’ll be there even after a hard day,” Scott answered kissing the side of Allison’s head.

“And never giving up no matter how tough things get,” Allison added leaning against Scott, wrapping her arms around him.

* * *

If anyone had bothered to ask Stiles, the day he met Isaac, if his roommate would have hooked up with Danny, the answer would have been a big, fat no. Danny had always been outgoing, willing to go out partying and dancing, while Isaac would much rather stay indoors with his art, but the two seemed to be making a go of it (and that, apparently, had been what Erica and Isaac had been talking about).

“What is love?” Isaac repeated the question and Stiles nodded. Isaac turned to Danny, giving him a soft smile, and said, “Love is still being surprised even after you think you know who you’re with.”

* * *

Erica offered Stiles a smirk when he asked her the same question. She glanced over at Boyd, who had his arm around her, and gave him a wet kiss on his cheek. She turned back to the camera and said, “Love is having the best sex of your life every night, but still being able to cuddle afterward.” Boyd shrugged, nodding, and Stiles could barely conceal his grin.

* * *

“What about you, Mr. Hale,” Stiles asked giving the older guy a fond smile. His camera sat on the coffee table, powered off, and an old, black and white horror movie played softly in the background “What is love?”

Derek returned the smile, laying his head on Stiles’ shoulder, and said, “Love is home.”

**The End…**


End file.
